


The Sadist at Table 13

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [48]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Bad Ass Reid, Homophobia, M/M, No They Are NOT One Big Happy Family, Sexual Accusations, Super Bitch Strauss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid's lunch with Strauss does not go as he hoped it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sadist at Table 13

_“A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.” – Aesop_

“What do you suppose is keeping the director?” 

Reid looked up from his hot tea, and sought out Spaulding’s gray eyes. 

“What?” 

The Captain twisted the thin orange slice over Reid’s cup, and then pulled the rind backwards and sideways, effectively striping the meat from the covering. The scent of oranges filled the air. She dropped the rind into Reid’s tea, and left the orange wedge on his saucer. 

“What do you suppose is keeping your boss?” Spaulding wondered, glancing around the crowded restaurant once more. 

“She is probably stuck in traffic,” Reid commented. His spoon clattered as he set the utensil back down. 

“Are you shaking?” she asked. 

“No,” Reid lied. Spaulding leaned in to whisper to him.

“Don’t let her intimidate you. A supervisor’s reputation depends on how well her subordinates perform. If Strauss is too stupid to see how valuable you are to Agent Hotchner’s team, and to her reputation in the Bureau, then there are plenty of other people who would snatch you up in a heartbeat. Bad choice of words,” Spaulding decided suddenly, pausing to criticize herself and squint in embarrassment. Her comment won a tiny smile from Reid though. “What I’m saying is that there are plenty of other jobs on this planet, ones where you would be adored and appreciated, maybe even liked. Don’t let Strauss make you feel like you owe her anything. She’s lucky to have you, because you make her look good.” 

Reid tucked his head down shyly, giving a slight shrug with one shoulder. Spaulding cocked a sideways smile at him. 

“What happened this morning with your physical therapist? Honeybuns was making wisecracks about a mob hit?” 

“I have no idea. His office was locked up tight. There was police tape across the door. The note said that they would be in touch with his patients.”

“Did he disappear completely?” 

“So it would seem.”

“Aren’t you curious?” 

“Meh,” Reid shrugged one shoulder playfully. Spaulding stared at him, frowning. “Of course I’m curious,” he added softly. “But it’s none of my business unless someone asks me.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” Amy clucked disapprovingly. 

“If the police need anything from me, they will find me.” 

“In the meantime, you’re on the hunt for a new physical therapist?” 

“So it would seem.”

“I could put someone on that for you.” 

“You could?” Reid teased. 

“I could,” Spaulding confided. “Oh! There’s Strauss. I’ll make myself scarce.”

Spaulding darted away as Reid turned to search for Strauss. 

The Assistant Director did not look happy. She weaved through the restaurant, side-stepping several people waiting in line for a table, almost tripping over an errant attaché belonging to a pleasant business man and his client. Strauss was visibly annoyed. She turned to comment to the man who followed in her wake. In turn, he made a comment to the man behind him. 

Three of them? How charming, Reid thought, taking another sip of tea. They looked like angry crows, dressed in their dark suits, with their looming, large shoulders and their frowning faces. Reid gave Strauss a tentative wave in case she hadn’t seen him. She frowned in reply and marched his direction. Reid emptied his cup, and longed for something stronger that spiced cinnamon and orange. 

“Traffic,” Strauss muttered in explanation when she reached the table. Reid rose to his feet, and Strauss took the seat across the table from him. The other two men, surely both federal agents as well, sat down in the other two seats at the small table. Reid decided quickly that this meeting was going to be very short indeed. Unless they all ordered small servings, there was no way this tiny table would be able to accommodate a multitude of plates. He had a sinking feeling in his chest as he resumed his seat. 

So Strauss’s plan was not lunch at all. If it was, she would have wanted to move to a larger table. She wanted this meeting to be quick and to the point. No small talk. No pleasantries. Not that pleasantries were ever her strong suit. Erin dropped five files onto the table, one corner of which touched the edge of Reid’s saucer. He watched for a moment as the sliver of orange drained juice into the paper of the heavy folder. Spencer used one finger to tenderly nudge the file aside. 

The two unidentified agents watched Reid intently. He returned the favor. 

The first was male, white, mid-50’s, with close-cropped brown and white hair, an aquiline nose. He had an earring hole in one ear, but was not wearing an earring. He had a barely-visible purple spot on his shirt, hidden by his tie. There were bread crumbs on his tie. He smelled vaguely of really cheap cologne. So the cologne had been chosen for him—it was not one he would have chosen for himself. But he felt obligated to wear it because it had been a gift. His shoes were shiny on the top, but for a couple scuffs of sidewalk chalk, pink and white, which showed on the upturned tips of his toes. 

His wedding ring was very shiny and very new, but not from an expensive set. It was thoroughly modern as well, not at all what Reid would have expected a man of this age to be wearing if he had been married for several years, if he had been married in his mid-20’s as was the norm. So the older agent was on his second marriage, had much-younger wife, for whom he had pierced his ear in an attempt to seem more in tune with a younger, hipper crowd. She had made him toast with grape jelly for breakfast. They had a young daughter. He should have been happy with this change of circumstances, this new lease on life, but he wasn’t happy at all, was he? His sour expression was a reflection of this unhappiness. Was he feeling a twinge of regret, perhaps? Had these life-altering decisions been made while under the influence of a mid-life crisis? Was he now paying the price? At a time when he should have been planning for retirement, he was raising a new child and facing another round of college tuition. 

The second agent was male, black, early 40’s, with a broad build and a grim face. He brought Morgan to Reid’s mind. It was easy to draw comparisons between the two men, and not just because of their shared racial characteristics. Exactly like Derek Morgan, this agent had worked hard to be where he was. He had not been given anything in life. He had had to pull himself up from the bottom, fighting every step of the way. Literally, it would seem. The younger agent had had his nose broken, maybe more than once. It was clear he had gotten into a lot of fights when he was younger. He was not one to shy away from physical confrontation even now. He had an old scar, poorly stitched at the time, which bisected his handsome chin. His clothes were perfect, sharp black suit, sharp black tie. His short hair was perfect. His hands, which he folded on the table, were rough and scarred. But his nails were amazing – professional manicure? He was profoundly neat, proud of his appearance, not vain, but proud of his physical conditioning and his great shape. He wore no wedding ring, but it would have been a challenge to find a ring to fit over his rough, bulging fingers. Maybe he wasn’t the marrying kind. Reid studying him made him very defensive. Spencer retreated from the angry gaze. 

The young waitress leaned over Reid’s shoulder and refilled his cup of tea for him, giving him a gentle smile before facing the others. Her bubblegum-pink nail polish made him think about Mouse. More than one twinge of regret washed over Reid as he thought about his daughter’s last visit to DC. They hadn’t spoken since. Whenever he called, Mouse had every excuse not to speak with him. She was upset, clearly. She wasn’t speaking to Korsakova or to Max either. Hotch had said she was too much like Reid, someone who internalized his problems and blamed himself for every little thing that went wrong in his life. There ought to be a way to reach out to Mouse, but short of flying out to Seattle and talking to her in person, Reid didn’t know how to fix things. 

“Can I start the newcomers off with something to drink? Would you like menus?” the waitress asked brightly. A thin braid swung down from her long bangs. Clipped on the end was a teeny, pink heart-shaped barrette. 

“Coffee, one sugar, no cream.”

“Coffee, three sugars, extra cream.”

“Coffee, black.”

Strauss and the two other agents barked their orders quickly, in an effort to make the waitress go away. She was vaguely wounded by their brusque tones. She took the verbal and physical clues in, and backed away from the table. Her friendly smile wavered but she persevered. 

Reid replied quietly to her question. “Thank you for the tea. I do not believe we will need menus.” 

“All right then, hon. I’ll have those coffees back in a jiffy,” the waitress promised Reid. He wondered how long that jiffy might be, considering how busy the restaurant was, and how many of the tables she was handling. But she was handling them very well! 

There was hardly enough room to breathe in this swamped restaurant. Spencer felt like the multitude of people was closing in around him. The sight and sound of them all bombarded his senses, made his heart race. He wasn’t used to busy places. He had grown accustomed to being alone in his quiet house, with Hotch and Jack for company morning and evening, and the occasional odd visitor, maybe a short conversation with one of his surveillance crew now and then. Reid longed to search the restaurant to find where Spaulding had concealed herself, but knew that would never do. He didn’t want to reveal her position. 

Reid studied the five folders that Strauss had placed before him, some perverse manner of a shell game, he surmised. 

“These are the choices I have made for you, and you will notice, young man, that none of them are labeled ‘BAU’.” 

Reid imagined that was what Strauss was thinking. He surmised her mood from her foul demeanor. This meeting with Reid was an unpleasant task that she wanted finished as quickly as possible. She had more important things to do with her time than deal with Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“I should begin by offering you my congratulations on your nuptials,” Erin intoned, giving each of the other agents a meaningful glance and a tiny smirk. The older agent smirked back to Strauss. They shared a moment of private mirth. The younger agent kept his face immobile. A fleeting hint of anger sparked through his dark eyes though. The topic of Reid and Hotch’s same-sex civil union was a source of amusement for Strauss and the older agent, but not so for the younger agent. The agent glanced at Reid’s wedding ring, then at his own empty hands. Reid caught the remorse in his face before he hid it away. Spencer’s curiosity was tingling. 

Reid couldn’t help the smile that passed over his own features. He refused to let Strauss tarnish the happy, internal glow that the mere idea of his marriage brought to him. He glanced at his rings, which Strauss was staring at presently. He liked the way the rings rubbed together with a melodic clink and jingle. They felt surprisingly good on his hand. It was the emotion behind the metal. They were tactile reminders that someone valued Reid enough to put a visible social marker on his person which stated clearly that he belonged, that he had met the standard of being desirable, and that he was worthy of a wedding bond. The turquoise stone in the wedding ring was a nod to Reid’s southwestern heritage. But also, according to stone lore, turquoise was said to protect the wearer from negative energy. Reid could certainly use a little of that right now! All he could sense from Strauss was her dislike and her negativity. 

Spencer’s thoughts drifted back to much earlier in the morning, how Hotch had awakened him. Bodies rubbing, mouths locked together, kissing and biting, fingers curling through bed sheets and hair and back again, their arms and legs all a-tangle. Aaron had coaxed Spencer to a gentle, sleepy climax, and afterwards had spooned against his back, nuzzling his ear, murmuring soft words of encouragement to bolster Reid’s confidence for today’s meeting with Strauss. Spencer let his smile widen at the memory of Hotch’s arms around him, their bodies aligned, Hotch’s voice in his ear, the tickle of beard stubble against his shoulder and neck as Aaron was speaking to him. 

The memory of that voice and the brush of stubble against his skin made Spencer flush with desire. His eyes glimmered. A virginal blush covered the tops of his cheeks. Strauss read the flush of pleasure and the smile on Reid’s face, and it irritated her to no end. She had hoped to make him feel ashamed. Instead, she had made him happier, and in turn, she grew even more annoyed. Let her stew. After so many years of being alone, wallowing in self doubt about his social acceptability as a mate, or even as a friend, Reid was not going to let Strauss ruin his current state of joy at being accepted as a mate by the man he loved (adored, worshipped, and respected as well). 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” Reid replied. “I do hope Mr. Strauss will be home again soon,” he added, hoping that was the reason Strauss was so grumpy – because she was alone and pining for her mate. But that wasn’t it at all. Reid knew the moment the words were out of his mouth. Erin started, and fought to hide her growing irritation with him. 

“How did you know….” she began.

“You aren’t wearing your wedding ring. Is the stone loose again?” Reid fumbled for words. It had been a guess, about Strauss’s husband being out of town, but now that he had said the words, and noted the absence of her wedding ring, he decided it would have been better not to say anything at all. 

“I must have forgotten it in the rush this morning,” Strauss responded, fighting a grimace when the other two agents cast curious eyes at her. But she hadn't rushed, had she? She had taken a great deal of time styling her hair, tending to her wardrobe, applying more makeup than usual. The younger agent watched Reid and his calculated study of Strauss's person. He shifted his feet and squirmed in his seat. He almost seemed to draw a curtain of protection between himself and Reid, a practiced ritual to keep everyone else out of his private world, which only further roused Reid’s curiosity about what the agent had to hide. The older agent frowned at Reid and narrowed his eyes even tighter. Strauss sent Reid a glance that could have frosted over good portions of the Sahara. 

Reid knew he had unconsciously hit upon a sensitive target. Yes, Strauss’s husband was out of town. Yes, Erin did have plans for later, plans that did not include her husband or her wedding ring. Plans that did involve a different perfume than she usually wore. This was a flowery scent which brought to mind a light and airy spring and a meadow filled with blooming flowers. It was not her usual sandalwood and spice perfume, a masculine choice that was a olfactory way of negating her femininity in the FBI realm, which unequivocally showed a preference for all things masculine. The scent Strauss was wearing today was meant to accentuate her femaleness. Reid jumped to several conclusions, none of which he was going to voice aloud. He scratched vaguely at the side of his jaw, and turned his head sideways in order to read the folders that had been placed before him. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I took the opportunity. To do a little light reading before our meeting,” Spencer said, picking up the folder marked ‘Forensics’. 

“Light reading?” Strauss inquired. 

“An overview of the BAU’s case reports.” 

“I shall have to scold Agent Hotchner about leaving his files lying around the house,” Erin joked, an almost-pleasant, jovial expression on her face. It was a thin veneer over the smoldering dislike she was fighting to keep buried. It wasn’t the first time Reid had been hated for being too smart for his own good, moreover for demonstrating his superior intelligence. He wondered, for a moment, if that might be what had happened with Mouse. Knowing how alike he and she were. Had she had a circumstance arise where she had been showy about her intelligence, and someone had taken offense at what she had said? 

“The entire history of the department, not merely recent closed cases. I was analyzing the closure rates. It’s a pity that Agent Mendez is leaving. She will be missed. Doctor Forni always thought very highly. Of both her work ethic, and her skill set. I hope you told the Milwaukee office. How lucky they are to get Mendez,” Reid said. 

“Of course I did.”

“As I recall. Dr. Graham has seniority in Hades now. He has been with the Bureau for. Almost twenty years.”

“Your speech impediment. That strange pause in the middle of sentences? Is that a result of the coma or the brain surgery?” Strauss asked.

“My therapist has many theories. I have my own,” Reid replied, not answering her question. 

If Reid measured each word on his tongue before he spoke, it made the interruptions mere pauses instead of complete stops. The spaces were more dramatic when he was upset or excited. Reid practiced, and he practiced, and he practiced the voice exercises that his speech therapist had given him, all to no avail. He read to Jack. He read to Hotch. He read to himself. He read to Goody. When he was relaxed, his words came more easily. But when he was anxious, the pauses could be very pronounced indeed. Reid put down the ‘Forensics’ folder, and lifted the ‘Ballistics’ folder with a frown.

“Agent Stewart would not be at all thrilled. With you or me either one,” he whispered. He glanced at the ‘SWAT’ folder and gave Strauss another look which questioned not only her sense of humor but her sanity. 

“Stewart could be persuaded to take you on if I say so. He’s an agent down, with Karl Torgeson’s transfer to BAU,” Strauss murmured. Reid put the folder back down. Strauss frowned deeply at him. 

“Would you like to know? What I learned in my analysis of the BAU case closure rates?” Reid asked. 

“I suspect you’re dying to tell me.”

“Since November, the BAU’s successful case closure rate has dropped. From 80 percent to 74 percent. A drop is to be expected. As two new team members acclimate to the changing expectations of their different positions. And as the entire team adjusts to Agent Prentiss’s departure. Plus my reassignment. I can’t believe you’re at all happy with such a large drop in efficiency though. In a three-month time span. Neither are your bosses.”

Strauss’s face twitched.

“I know for a fact. That Agent Hotchner isn’t happy about this,” Reid added quietly. 

“No, I’m not happy. But I’m not worried. Once Agent Torgeson finds his footing, he’ll be a valuable asset,” Strauss defended.

“Karl is a fine addition to the team. I like him very much. He’s adapting well,” Spencer replied. 

“It’s time for a change, Dr. Reid. Your team is not going to stay the same forever. Agents come and go, move on to new challenges, new careers. Agent Hotchner has been reluctant to accept this.”

“I had no idea that Bonneville wanted to retire,” Reid murmured, picking up the folder marked ‘Instructional Services’. 

“Are you on good terms with Agent Bonneville?” 

“He is consummate professional. Devoted to his duties. Devoted to his purpose. Devoted to his ideals,” Reid replied noncommittally. He actually was not on good terms with Bonneville. He had never liked Reid. The one and only reason Bonneville would have suggested Reid for the position was to make himself look better by comparison. “When Agent Gideon first recruited me for the Academy. Agent Bonneville had certain misgivings about my abilities. I appreciated his honesty. When he gave me my first evaluation as a cadet. He did not sugar-coat his opinion. He did not mince words. I worked on the areas of weakness. Which he pointed out to me. His next evaluation showed marked improvement. In the failings he had at first perceived.”

“Yes, I’ve read his comments,” Erin replied coolly. “I’ve spoken with every one of your supervisors.”

The idea of that made Reid pause. Had she even spoken with Gideon? Surely not!

“Director Strauss, if you have particular areas of concern, areas you wish to see improved. You need only tell me. I will work to correct these faults,” Reid promised. 

“In the spirit of honesty, Dr. Reid, I should tell you that I’ve spoken individually with each member of your former team, and while some of them do anticipate your return, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that certain team members expressed grave misgivings about your ability to successfully carry out your job, were you to be reinstated in your former position in the behavioral sciences division. In fact, I was advised against letting you return, for your own good,” Strauss informed Reid, with a calm, cool voice that raised the hairs on the back of Spencer’s neck. 

Strauss waited for her words to sink in, watching Reid’s crestfallen reaction with undisguised delight. Spencer nibbled his bottom lip and stared down at the table. He hadn’t realized he had slouched down at her remark. He made himself sit up straight again. 

The waitress returned with three coffees, a round, glass cylinder of sugar, and a small pitcher of cream. She read Reid’s defeated body language and gave the rest of the table a cool frown. Then she gave Spencer a sympathetic glance. 

“If you need help, flag me down,” she said. 

“Thank you,” Reid replied, pulling a couple bills out of his front jacket pocket and handing them to her as she slipped past him and hurried away. She was almost to the counter when she gave an exclamation of joy, and scampered into the kitchen area. 

“That coffee took long enough,” the older agent grumbled. “These stupid college kids today can’t even handle a brain-dead job like this.” 

Reid nailed him with a sharp stare. The younger agent frowned at the older agent and took a drink.

“It’s good coffee,” the younger agent offered. 

“Our waitress is handling one third of the tables in this restaurant. 25 individual orders, and the particularly-finicky eater at table 13. Who has altered her order four times in fifteen minutes. In hopes of tripping the young woman up. She appears to take pleasure in tormenting those she sees as her social inferior. If her loud phone conversation with her secretary. Was any indication of her usual manner. The waitress is anything but brain-dead. She has an advanced biology class in one hour, and must depart here in twenty minutes or she will be late,” Reid spoke up. 

“How is that relevant?” Strauss wondered.

“She’s doing the best she can to better herself. She takes this job very seriously. Because it means being able to take care of herself and her child. Did you know that the average wage for waiting tables. Is between seven to eight dollars an hour? Some establishments pay far less. She must supplement her wages with tips. Which depend largely on the mood of the customer. Not the level of service granted,” Reid continued. “While it is true that she does not possess the ability. To perform your job at your skill level. I would be pleasantly surprised if you could handle her job. At her skill level either. They have an opening. If you want to try. There is a posting on the bulletin board.”

The older agent shifted in his seat after the not-so-polite dressing down. Reid picked up the folder marked ‘Cold Case Squad’, and actually glowed as he leafed through the contents. 

“While I am seriously tempted by this selection. The Cold Case division did not take kindly to me before. They saw me as an upstart interloper. I annoyed them, in no uncertain terms. I hardly think they would have changed their minds about me. Even given the amount of time that has passed.” 

Strauss was rumbling softly under her breath, glaring black, burning holes through Reid’s chest. He must have felt the heat. He closed the folder and tucked it tenderly with the other four, before gazing expectantly at Strauss. 

“Director, I understand that you have misgivings. About my ability to return to the BAU. You worry, can I make myself useful? While at the same time not impede the team’s ability to do its job,” Reid began. He sipped at his tea. “I have no desire to compromise the efficiency of my team. I won’t ask you to reinstate me. Before I can actually be of service to them and to you.”

“Dr. Reid, I have serious misgivings about placing you back in the BAU at all, ever,” the director acknowledged. “Your own team members do not have full confidence in you. I believe putting you back with them would be a recipe for disaster.”

“I politely disagree,” Spencer responded. “I think given my years of experience. And my demonstrated expertise. The BAU is where I belong.”

“After what you’ve been through, it’s too soon to consider returning to full-time duty. Eventually we will discuss a gradual return, to a less-demanding position, in a different capacity. Ease you back in, as it were,” Strauss offered. “Dr. Reid, I’m advising you to take a few months off. A year even. See how you feel then about returning.” 

“A year?!” Reid exclaimed defensively. 

“Spencer,” Strauss cooed, putting on the concerned mother façade a bit too thickly. Her voice made everyone at the table cringe because it was so obviously fake. “I’m concerned that putting you back into the BAU might upset the balance on Hotchner’s team. No one on his team is operating at their usual proficiency, and it shows, badly. Putting you back in their midst might only make matters worse. Don’t you understand what I told you before? They question your ability to do the job without getting hurt again. I feel that putting you back in with the same team will only further exacerbate a precarious situation. Do I have to spell it out for you? They don’t feel you can do the job. They are right to be concerned. Look at you. You look awful. How are you going to chase down suspects when you are having trouble standing upright without assistance?”

“This job is not defined. By an agent’s ability to chase a suspect. More than 80 percent of a profiler’s tasks. Can be performed. From a seated position. It is rare indeed that we must engage in physical confrontation with an unsub. Agent Gideon remarked more than once. If you are at the point of physical confrontation, you have already failed,” Reid pointed out sharply and defensively.

“Dr. Reid, you have been injured more often than any other member of your team,” Strauss pointed out bitterly. Reid acknowledged her acid remark with a quiet nod. “There’s no need to get defensive. I’m not casting personal aspersions at you. I’m merely pointing out the obvious fact that you are limited in your ability to perform in the field. You always have been. It might be time for you to admit to yourself that you simply aren’t cut out for the demands of the position.”

“A position I’ve held for over a decade? My job evaluations have all been 97 percent and above.”

“Evaluations given to you by the supervisory agent you were sleeping with for who knows how long,” Strauss barked back at him. At least she had dropped the ultra-phony good mother routine. 

Reid’s eyes centered on Strauss, and his face took on a venomous quality. This was war now – a full-fledged battle for his job. He should have known it would come to this. He was amazed that Strauss was willing to dive into this topic in front of witnesses though. That meant she must feel certain they would back her no matter what she said. The older agent smiled, but the younger agent froze, holding his breath.

“Not that I’m casting judgmental aspersions at your personal habits,” Strauss added. 

“You know very well that I HAVE NOT. Been sleeping with Agent Hotchner. For the entire duration of my tenure in the BAU,” Reid hissed. 

“How do I know that for sure?” Erin responded. 

“You plan to dismiss every single evaluation that he has conducted. Because you think he was biased in my favor?” 

“Yes. If he has been biased in his opinion by the fact you were sexually involved, I think that it’s only prudent to dismiss any evaluation he conducted.”

“That leaves you with the evaluations. Conducted by Agent Gideon on which to base your opinion of my job performance. Evaluations that are several years out of date,” Reid complained. 

“That all depends, Dr. Reid. Were you sexually involved with Agent Gideon as well?” Strauss asked. 

“Madame Director?” the younger agent interjected. 

“Is your reluctance to reinstate me. More about your concerns with my sexual history. Than it is about my job performance?” Reid asked bluntly. 

“Only if your job performance is tied to your sexual history,” Strauss taunted. She was enjoying prodding Reid, no doubt about it. She wanted to provoke a response, and she was hoping for a dramatic, emotional one. Reid was glad to disappoint her. 

“No more than yours is,” Spencer countered icily. He heard his mother in his words, and it shocked him deeply, but that didn’t belay the glee he felt when Strauss’s spine stiffened and her eyes sparked with fury. Why should he be polite or even kind to Strauss, if she was going out of her way to be an unprofessional ogress to him?

“Dr. Reid, watch yourself,” Strauss intoned. 

“Do you mean to insinuate. That I have slept my way into the position that I hold? That I am not capable of performing my job. Based on my skills alone?” Reid wondered. 

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” Strauss said.

“Indeed, Madame Director, that is precisely what you intimated. By erroneously concluding. That I must have been involved. With my prior supervisory agent. The man who recruited me in the first place. Do you mean to suggest. That Agent Gideon…..” 

“I’m sure you misunderstood me,” Strauss was beginning to stammer.

“I do not believe I misunderstood you at all. Might I remind you that federal law states. That you may not discriminate against me. Based on your own personal bias about my sexual orientation? To determine whether or not I can function in my job. You must base your opinion about my job performance. On my demonstrated strengths and weaknesses. As you are not classified, or might I add capable, of field agent status. And you have had but rare opportunities. To observe me in the field. My performance has been evaluated. By my supervisory agents who are actually in the field with me. Who in turn pass those evaluations on to you. By insinuating that ten years of evaluations are biased. You mean to dismiss more than two-thirds of my job evaluations. By concluding that I must have also been sexually involved with Agent Gideon. You mean to dismiss the other one-third of my job evaluations. Having found reason to cast doubt on every single job evaluation that I have ever received, Madame Director. On what do you mean to base your opinion? If not your own personal bias against my sexual orientation?” Spencer fumed, his voice rising, his face burning. Other restaurant patrons were beginning to stare, but Reid didn’t care. Their waitress fumbled with a plate at a nearby table, and almost dropped it. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Dr. Reid,” Strauss hissed. 

“He made a valid point,” the younger agent spoke up. “You have no proof of your accusations, and your bias is against federal regulations.” 

Strauss glared daggers at the young agent, and he bit back his words. 

“Shall I propose a test, here, now, a manner by which you may judge my ability to do my job? Who would you like for me to profile? You? Him? Him? Let me tell you about yourself,” Reid suggested dangerously, facing each of them in turn. No one was quick to volunteer themselves. “Don’t be shy,” Reid urged, a hint of malevolent annoyance in his voice. Strauss backed slightly away from the dangerous hiss in his tone. 

“The waitress,” the older agent spoke up. Strauss growled softly, but did not intervene. She hadn’t wanted this to go any further. But the fact she didn’t stop the older agent said to Reid that he outranked her in Bureau hierarchy. Reid made a point to memorize both agents’ faces. He would have to search for their identities later, as time permitted. 

Strauss put down her coffee cup with a snap. “I have other appointments this afternoon….” 

“You come here often, and you know the waitress personally. How else would you have been able to read all those things about her?” the older agent decided. 

“No, sir. I chose this location precisely because I have never been here before. Though I have been past it several times. I had more than an hour. While you were tied up in traffic. Giving me more than ample time to study everyone here. I saw the young woman come through the door at ten of two. Off the bus from Alexandria. The bus stop is right outside. A bus route map is on the bulletin board right inside the restaurant entrance. As she came in, she ran her hand across the route map, and checked the return time for the rush hour. The schedule is crisp and clean in comparison with the other items hanging there. It must be new, meaning the times have recently changed, or she would already have been familiar with the schedule.”

Everyone else at the table turned to gawk, and turned back again. Patrons at the closest table to theirs also turned and looked. As Reid continued to speak, his anger calmed, his voice because smoother, more relaxed. 

“She had a partially-open backpack on one shoulder. She was carrying an advanced biology text, which she had clearly been reading while the bus was in transit. It is an elective course for a medical degree. She is not brain-dead in the least. I am familiar with the courses at Georgetown University because. From time to time, I take classes there, and even guest-lecture at them. The waitress is planning on a career in medicine. Nurse? Doctor? Technician? Specialist? Any number of possibilities there. I can’t tell you which.”

“How do you know she has a child?” the older agent asked. 

“The same way I know you have a young daughter. Clues about your person. The chalk dust on your shoes. Your daughter draws on your driveway, and it annoys you. You walked through her drawings to get to your car this morning. If you liked her drawings, if you were fond of your daughter, you would have walked around them. But they annoy you. She annoys you. You walked over the drawings to wound her feelings in a passive-aggressive manner which was learned from your father, in your youth. The girl's mother annoys you too, although you do love her, because she makes you feel younger than you are. But then you have to tell yourself you love her, don’t you, because you've made your bed, haven't you? There’s no going back to your first wife, not at this point, not after throwing her over for this much-younger woman. Marrying her. Having a child with her. Second marriages can be difficult, especially if there is a dramatic age difference between the two partners. Trust me. I'm learning that for myself first hand.” 

The older agent peered under the table, and reached down to clean his toes. 

“I know the waitress has a daughter. Because when she placed my tea on the table. I saw the child’s barrette pinned in the waitress's hair. The particular color of her nail polish is another clue. It’s meant for a young girl, not an adult woman. They got dressed together this morning. Her child is too young to dress herself, but not so young that she is not learning what she is supposed to wear, how society expects her to look as a female. She’s at an age to begin learning the social clues about the gender roles and differences. That would place the child between two and three, perhaps as old as four, but I would say closer to three. She pinned the barrette in her mother’s hair – note the askew alignment. Perhaps while her mother was combing her hair for her. It's one of those tasks that a mother and a child will perform together, one which bonds them, one which shows affection on a physical and emotional level. I care how you look, therefore I will groom you. A practice not exclusive to humans. It might be carryover from an earlier evolutionary stage of our existence. Grooming one's offspring is a way of teaching the child how to groom themselves- another clue that the child is closer to three than to four. Even though the barrette is askew, the waitress left it as it was in her hair, because it is reminder of her child, and it makes her happy, wistful, but happy. Every time the barrette swings into her view, she smiles unconsciously. She loves her daughter very much, and can't wait to be home tonight." 

“How do you know what time she has to pick her daughter up?” the younger agent asked. 

“Because of the time of the bus that she checked on the schedule.” 

“You know all this from watching her work for an hour?” the younger agent whispered. 

“My job is to observe details that might otherwise be missed, and to use those unspoken details to solve….” 

“You’ve watched her for only an hour, and yet you have such a high opinion of her. I think you are easily persuaded, Dr. Reid,” Strauss interjected. 

“I base my high opinion of her on her ability to be pleasant in the face of adversity, to be quick in the face of challenge, and to be able to distinguish 25 different orders and not make one mistake, except of course for the sadist at table 13,” Reid murmured, straightening the sleeve of his suit jacket and rubbing the soft material of his shirt cuff. 

“Are you finished showing off?” Strauss hissed. “I’m in no mood for parlor tricks. I don't care how many clues you read in other people. I’ve read your psychological and physical evaluations. You’re plagued by nightmares about the incidents in November. You’re thirty pounds underweight. You’re unable to cross the room unassisted by a cane. Members of your own team are afraid that you’ll get hurt again if you come back to the BAU. The criminal who perpetrated the crimes against you and the rest of the Cryptology Department remains at large. Agent Hotchner has been devoting every available resource towards solving that case, while other cases which he should be more concerned about linger unsolved. Besides that, you have expressed doubts to your own therapist about your ability to continue to do this job. How could you think I would blithely reassign you without reservations? Not to mention, a lengthy probationary period?” 

Reid did not reply. He waited, sensing Strauss had more that she wanted to snarl at him. 

“When you are ready to return to active duty, I will decide where you will go. The soonest date you might be permitted to return to work is obviously months away. I suggest you use that time to improve your deteriorated physical condition. If I believe for one second that you can’t keep up with the demands of this position, I will permanently transfer you where I deem most appropriate within the FBI, a transfer for which I do not need your prior approval. Is that clear, Dr. Reid?” 

“All too clear, Madame Director,” Reid answered. 

“Do you have a time table in mind for your return to the Bureau?” 

“I will be ready by March 1.”

Strauss snorted. Reid remained firm. Strauss’s snide humor faded. 

“You’re serious?” she sneered. 

“Absolutely.” 

“I can’t wait to see you try,” Strauss muttered, glaring openly at Reid for his audacity. “Your return remains in question, pending further physical and extensive psychological examinations. If you return to the BAU at all, if you return to Agent Hotchner’s team, you’ll understand of course if I request that a different supervisory agent conducts your job evaluations from here on out.”

“As long as you are not that supervisory agent, I agree completely. However, if you mean to take the task upon yourself. I would have no choice but to lodge a formal complaint against that plan. Considering the tone of the personal opinions you have expressed here today,” Reid countered. 

“Do you think that wise, Dr. Reid? I’m the one who will decide if you return to the FBI at all. You don’t want to get on my bad side, young man,” Strauss scolded. 

Reid silently fumed in his place. The younger agent to Reid’s left bit his mouth to keep silent, and gazed at Reid, waiting. When Reid did not respond, the agent cleared his throat and shifted his feet under the table. Reid flinched when his own cell phone rang from inside his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, and put it away again quickly.

“I apologize for the interruption. Have we concluded the business we needed to conduct?” Reid whispered.

“Dr. Reid, we will meet again to discuss this matter, when you don’t look like death warmed over, and when you’re in a more cooperative frame of mind,” Strauss assured him. Her own cell beeped, as did the other two agents’ phones in tandem. 

“We have to go,” the older agent said. He rose to his feet and gave Reid a disconcerting stare before he turned sharply on one heel and headed away. The younger agent popped up in unison with AD Strauss. Erin said nothing else. Neither did Reid. She snapped her bag handle to her shoulder, gave Reid a final dirty look, and stomped off across the restaurant towards the door. The older agent was now holding it open for her. Strauss was muttering before she was even out the door. On the sidewalk, she continued to fume and pace back and forth. She complained to the older agent who stood there with her, nodding to every word she bellowed. 

The younger agent was waiting by the side of the table. He stuck a hand at Reid and smiled reassuringly. 

“SAIC Washington. Fugitive and Criminal Apprehension Unit Chief. I look forward to March 1. It’ll be good to have you back, Dr. Reid. Hotch has been a goddamn pitbull over this Trovinger business. He starts every morning, busting my unit's collective asses about how many days this guy has been at large. You were right in pointing out the drop in closure rate, and the current imbalance on the team. I believe having you back in the BAU will help correct these problems. At least Hotch will have someone else to ride herd on then. You! Strauss is blind to anything but what she wants to see. But don’t let her worry you. There are changes coming, Dr. Reid. Be patient, and take care of yourself.” 

He shook Reid’s hand before he hurried briskly away. Spencer blinked in surprise, and watched him go. 

Captain Spaulding appeared out of the crowd waiting in line by the restrooms. She waited for Reid by the door. Spencer collected himself and rose to his feet. He shifted his weight onto his cane, and gathered up the folders that Strauss had left on the table. Perhaps she had left them in hopes that Reid might change his mind about her offer. Perhaps he might. If it came down to the choice between not working with Hotch, or not working in the FBI at all, Reid wasn’t sure what he might agree to. His face flamed with shame at his own cowardice. But the truth was the truth – he did want his old job back, but at this point, A job was better than NO job, and he might have to settle for what he could get, whatever bone Strauss wanted to throw to him. He had responsibilities. He had promises to keep. There was a point where foolish pride might be his undoing. He knew that. He knew that too well. Reid tucked the files into his satchel, and hugged the comforting leather object against his chest. He should probably text Hotch back, and let him know the meeting was over. But he wasn’t quite ready to talk about it, least of all with Hotch. 

The waitress returned to the table, blushing red and smiling.

“Your change, sir?” she questioned, her hand stuffed with bills. “You must have given me the wrong denomination.” 

“No. Keep the change,” Reid replied.

“But, sir, really, I can’t. It’s too much.”

“Save it. You’re going to need another biology text next semester.”

“Maybe,” she sighed. "I don't know. You know? Sometimes I wonder if it's worth all the effort." 

“Don't give up on yourself. Don’t you dare drop out,” Reid scolded gently, fishing around in his satchel. He gave her his business card, noting ironically that he might have to get the cards reprinted, if Strauss got her way in this situation. No matter. He would deal with that if it came to pass. “If you need help. A tutor. Advice. Call me. Please,” he added.

“Thank you. That's sweet of you, Dr. Reid," the waitress whispered, reading the card, biting back a smile and looking embarrassed. 

“You’re welcome. Holly?” Reid smiled back, reading her nametag. He was equally as embarrassed, aware he was making a scene. 

"Um, your friend is waiting," the waitress said, indicating Spaulding, who stood by the door beaming proudly at Reid. When she saw Reid look up, she masked herself behind a business-like demeanor again. 

"Take care," Spencer murmured before he slowly ambled towards the exit.


End file.
